


Command Me to Be Well

by mr_bulldops_trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angst, Child Abuse, Dark, Dark twisted shit ahead, Death, EXTREME Canon Divergence, Gun Violence, Incest, John Finds Out, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John is a grade A asshat douche here, M/M, Murder, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Sam and Dean are 14 and 18, Seriously I'm not pulling any punches, Sibling Incest, Unhappy Ending, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 00:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12716400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_bulldops_trash/pseuds/mr_bulldops_trash
Summary: John finds out.(This is really fucking dark, be warned.)





	Command Me to Be Well

**Author's Note:**

> *Arrives to the fandom 12 years late with Starbucks* Hi whatup, my name is Lux and I have a thing for incest ships and pretty guys and I've spent the last two months watching seasons 1-10 of Supernatural for the first time. Usually I write porn dressed up as semi-coherent stories, but I've been feeling dark and this happened? This is pretty fucked up and happens on several time levels at once, I hope it's understandable though. Title is from "Take me to church" by Hozier, because of course.

The air reeked of gunpowder and John’s arms felt heavy. He took a few staggering steps back and felt his elbow bump against the chair. He sat down at the table, turning his back to the motel room and staring at a moldy spot on the tacky wallpaper. Lifting his left hand, he took a big enough swig of the Jack bottle in it that the arm felt slightly lighter. Everything else was still heavy.

*

_John, having never had siblings, couldn’t quite be expected to know how ”normal” brothers acted around each other, and it wasn’t like he paid that much attention to his sons anyway, spending most of his time either hunting or preparing for the next hunt. Still, he knew that Dean and Sam were very close, even if only because Bobby had pointed it out to him a time or two._

_He had always considered it a good thing: he didn’t have time to settle any sibling rivalries or pointless fights, and it was probably due to their great connection that his sons worked together so well on hunts. And it was good that they had each other’s company to keep while he was working alone (which he did quite often – he kept telling himself, even as the boys grew older, that it was to keep them safe, but in the deepest darkest corner of his heart he knew that after Mary’s death, he just couldn’t stomach being around people all the time, even his own flesh and blood)._

*

Luckies. A pack of blue Lucky Strikes, he had them somewhere in his inner pocket, along with a cheap plastic lighter that had a pin-up lady pictured on it. He had confiscated them from Dean, who had protested with all the fierceness that he had the courage to let out. It was almost funny, John thought distantly while fishing the cancer sticks out of his pocket – Dean rarely disobeyed his father, but when he did, he was extremely hardheaded about it, while Sammy fought against him every step of the way but usually gave up easily enough once he had expressed his dissatisfaction. John hadn’t smoked a single cigarette since Mary had gotten pregnant with their eldest. The morbid irony was not lost on him as he lit the cigarette with a slightly trembling hand.

*

_He could always count on Dean, of course. There had been the incident with the Shtriga back when Sammy had been little, but after that Dean had become furiously devoted to protecting his brother. John knew he could leave the boys alone for long streches of time, and Dean would make sure that Sammy got himself to school every day and they didn’t run out of mac and cheese (the kid could out-hustle just about anyone at the pool table by the time he was twelve). Ellen had once asked him if he didn’t think it was unfair that Dean didn’t get to go to school himself, but John had dismissed her concern as ridiculous._

_”He tried school, didn’t he? Didn’t care for it, so he dropped out. It’s not like he could learn the things he needs in the job from a school anyway. God knows I wouldn’t mind if Sammy spent more time training and less time buried in his books either, but you can’t have everything.”_

_He never, ever voiced these thoughts to either of the boys. No matter how dedicated or sweet (respectively) his sons were, John knew that some lines shouldn’t be crossed._

*

The smoke was bitter in his lungs, but it barely registered in his mind. The added layer of haze in his mind felt like a blessing, so he focused on embracing that, until a knock on the door disturbed his careful lack of thought.

”Sir? Sir, this is the motel’s manager. Is everything okay?”

John ignored the worried voice of the man. He took another swig of the whiskey; the bottle was almost empty.

”Please sir, I must ask you to open the door, or I’ll have to come in with my own keys.”

Good luck with that. He had placed an extra deadbolt on the door as soon as they checked in, as always, and it was securely locked.

”Sir. Please answer! The guest in the room next to yours told me she heard gunshots a moment ago, so I need you to tell me if you’re all right.”

That’s right, the gun was still on his right hand, hanging loosely by his side. He lifted it and studied it for a moment. He almost threw it away to the corner of the room, but then thought better of it and placed it gently on the table.

*

_Back in the day, he and Dean had made a deal: don’t tell Sammy about the monsters until he’s old enough. Neither of them was sure when ”old enough” would be, but John was pretty confident that the age of four, when Dean had been first exposed to the darkness of the world, was much too young at least. He knew that Mary would have wanted to protect little Sammy, the miracle baby whom they had almost lost a couple of times during the difficult pregnancy. He should be sheltered for as long as possible._

_And Dean? Of course he needed to be protected too. Of course he was just as precious as Sam. Of course he deserved to have everything his little brother did. But the sad fact of the matter was, John knew, that it was too late. Dean was already exposed, already knew too much. He was already damaged. So was it really so wrong of him to keep piling responsibility on Dean’s skinny young shoulders to keep it off Sammy’s?_

_When Sammy inevitably was introduced to the harsh reality, he’d had nightmares for weeks. Not that he had ever come to John about it. But John had woken up one night in the darkness of a motel room (he couldn’t even remember what state they had been in) about a month after Sam had first seen his father beheading a vampire, and he’d heard two voices from the other bed. Technically, with Dean already a preteen, the boys were getting too old to share a bed, but money was too tight for a three-bed room and they didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it, so it was just practical._

_Sammy had sobbed quietly._

_”Another nightmare?” Dean’s low whisper._

_”Yeah.”_

_The springs of the lousy bed had given a little squeak as Dean had gathered his little brother in his arms, and then John had heard his eldest humming softly, recognizing the melody that Mary had used to sing to the boys. By and by, the sobbing had faded and was replaced with the deep, heavy breaths of a sleeping child. John had thanked his luck for the way Dean was able to console his brother where John would have been completely clueless – but he never brought it up with his son. It seemed like an unnecessary sentimentality._

*

The manager was trying to open the door now, keys rattling uselessly in the lock while the deadbolt held tightly as ever. John heard a frustrated groan.

”That’s it, I’m calling the police!”

Ah. So he had… maybe five to ten minutes. That would be plenty. He downed the rest of the whiskey with two large gulps and let the bottle fall on the floor. The man outside the door was talking on his phone now, the familiar undercurrent of panic making his voice reach higher than usual in some places, John had heard it countless times from countless people. He had a call to make too, so he pulled the ugly lime green cord phone closer to himself on the table, lifted the handset and dialed one of the numbers he knew by heart.

*

_Dean looked a lot like Mary. The eyes, the smile, the high cheekbones. Sammy, on the other hand, looked more like John but had the same gentle and curious air about him that Mary had used to. John hated it, hated the way his kids reminded him of the love of his life that he had lost. When Mary had perished in the fire, all those years ago, John had only been able to think about revenge and how to best get it, so he had put all else aside in order to become a hunter with no previous experience. And by the time the hottest flame of his rage had settled down, it was too late already to go back to a normal life._

_Maybe he was too harsh on them sometimes. They were just kids, Bobby liked to remind him, even now that Dean was eighteen and Sammy fourteen. But hell – life was harsh, and he preferred his sons to know that rather than be lulled into a false sense of safety, when in fact safety didn’t exist. Not for them. Not ever._

_But John, for all his skills in hunting, wasn’t a very wise man when it came to people. So it wasn’t such a surprise that he had completely missed the way his sons had found safety in each other._

*

The phone didn’t ring for long. Bobby was always quick to answer, always conscious of his responsibility.

”Singer.”

”Bobby. It’s me.”

”John?” The older hunter sounded surprised; they had last parted on less than cordial terms after a bad argument. ”What’s going on? Is everything okay? The boys?”

John almost smiled. Of course Bobby would want to know about the boys first of all. ”There’s been a… a situation.”

”What kinda situation?”

John rubbed his eyes wearily. ”You know, Sammy has always been so good at school. Top of his class. I know it because Dean tells me, when I think to ask. Sammy doesn’t talk to me about that. About anything. And you wanna know the really awful part? I don’t think I even care that much.”

”What the hell are you talking about?”

_(the brass number on the motel room door blurring into nothing in his eyes as he hears the breathless laughter inside, the gleeful sound that ends in a high-pitched gasp)_

”I don’t. I’ve given up on him. He’s so sullen all the time, so moody. I told him the other day that he can hate me all he wants, as long as he does his part on the hunts.” John sighed. ”And Dean – he’s like me, you know? Silent. Efficient. Keeps things to himself. But he always, always takes Sammy’s side whenever we argue about something.”

”John. Are you drunk? Can you calm down and just tell me what this is about?” Bobby sounded startled.

John went on, ignoring his old friend’s pleas. ”But despite that, I trust him. I can trust him with my life, you know, and Sammy’s. I know that boy, and I know that he would never, ever betray me, he would never go behind my back.”

_(the overwhelming scent of sweat and sex hitting him in the face when he opens the door, slowly, quietly, and lays his eyes on the scene inside)_

”…I thought that. But I was wrong.”

”John, goddammit, listen to me. Where are the boys? Put Dean on the phone for me, or Sam. Please.”

”I was so wrong.” He started to laugh then, dry, wheezy huffs of laughter that had no trace of amusement or joy behind them. ”I came back early from a hunt. Today. A while ago. I was sitting in the car at the parking lot for a while, writing notes. And I saw the boys come in.”

_(moans, grunts, the slick sound of flesh meeting flesh, droplets of sweat dripping down a lean, tanned back towards the point where the two bodies are joined together)_

Bobby had fallen silent, finally really listening to him.

”They walked to the motel door, Dean said something and Sammy laughed. I don’t remember the last time I saw him laugh like that. Dean watched him and he got this, this look on his face. Soft, like a teenage girl seeing a kitten. And then…” the words took a while to form in his mouth, so strange and foreign to him that it might as well have been another language. ”…He _kissed_ him. Dean kissed his little brother. And Sammy kissed back. They couldn’t get through the door fast enough. Like dogs in heat.”

He could almost hear Bobby’s heart pounding in his throat on the other end of the call. ”What did you do, John?”

”I sat there for a while longer. Drank some whiskey. And then I came in.”

_(Dean lying on his back on the bed, pants only halfway down and the button-up flannel still on him but unbuttoned, the amulet on a leather chain lying on his bare chest, eyes closed and moaning with desire)_

”I know I haven’t been a good father since Mary died. But I never thought… See, it wasn’t right. It just – it could never have been right. I don’t know if it’s my fault. But I couldn’t let it be. And those boys, they’re so stubborn, so wild, even when they obey me, they do it out of fear and not love. They would always choose each other over me, over what’s right.”

_(Sammy rocking himself up and down on his brother’s dick, naked body flushed with heat, strands of dark hair sticking to the sweaty back of his neck, Dean’s hands squeezing his asscheeks, head thrown back in a delirious ecstasy)_

”Do you understand, Bobby?” He could hear sirens now, they were not far. ”I had to do it. I had to save them from themselves.”

_(the gun in his hand rising, as if on its own volition, as his youngest son cries out his climax with a broken wail of his brother’s name, Dean Dean Deeaaannnnn)_

Bobby’s voice was choked up, his breaths panicked and fast. ”John Winchester, please tell me you’re not saying what I think you are. Please. Please…”

”Sammy never saw it coming. Had his back to me. Didn’t feel a thing.”

_(the roar of the gunshot is deafening in the small motel room, and his ears ring just long enough that he doesn’t hear the sound of Sammy’s body collapsing on top of his brother, but he hears the anguished, animalistic scream that Dean lets out half a second later)_

”Dean…” he dumped the burned-out cigarette. ”Dean looked me in the face.”

_(all the monsters John has seen, all the demons, evil creatures and Satan’s creations, nothing comes close to the rage and loathing on the face of his firstborn as he sees him, green eyes filled with angry tears, strands of Sam’s hair sticking to the bloodied mess on his cheek as he clings desperately to the lifeless body of his little brother, still joined, still inside him, and John steadies the gun again)_

”He said ’I’ll see you in Hell’, and then it was over.”

Bobby was silent for five heartbeats, and John could hear the police cars pulling to the parking lot.

”You deserve to go to Hell, you son of a bitch,” Bobby finally hissed, venom in his voice.

”I know. I’m on my way.” He didn’t look behind him, didn’t need to see the blood, the empty eyes, the cum drying up between bodies, gluing his sons together. He knew. Everyone would know. ”I need you to take the Impala. Don’t let her end up as spare parts.” The police were shouting outside now, banging the door. ”I have to go now.”

”John.”

”Thanks, Bobby.”

”John, _don’t!_ ”

If Bobby’s heart hadn’t already been broken into a million permanently damaged shards, the gunshot and the silence that followed would have done it.

**Author's Note:**

> *shrug* I'm sorry?
> 
> (And apologies for any grammar fuck-ups, I'm pretty fluent in English but tend to focus purely on the story when I'm writing.)


End file.
